


Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back

by GoodGollyMissYollie (Yollie183)



Series: Danger Days [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, M/M, Songfic, Suicidal Thoughts, my chemical romance - Freeform, vigilantes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3562445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yollie183/pseuds/GoodGollyMissYollie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the daughter of one of the most powerful crime bosses in London dies, a vigilante known as Stryker is blamed and a price put on his head. Will he and his ally SableSpectr triumph against all odds?</p><p>In 1945 when America dropped the nuclear missiles on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, no one expected Japan to retaliate. And yet they did, joining forces with the Soviet Union to unleash a nuclear war that nearly destroyed the planet. Now only a few countries remain, struggling for survival under toxic skies, ruled by greedy corporations.<br/>The British National Corporation has seized control of England and Wales. London has become the playground for five crime families. In this cold dystopian city, two ordinary young men rise up to fight against injustice as masked vigilantes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the first in a series that will span the entire Danger Days album. My plan is to make each part stand on its own, but finally interlocking in a larger whole.
> 
> Title and lyrics from Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back by My Chemical Romance.

“Oh God,” Phil’s voice shook, one hand still stretched out over the guardrail at the edge of the bridge.

“Phil,” Dan turned his head toward the distant sound of sirens, “we need to go, right now.”

Phil nodded and dropped his arm, but he didn’t move away from the rail, still staring down at the dark, chaotic water below. Dan tugged on his arm, pulling him away and onto his motorcycle. Behind his mask, Phil’s blue eyes were swimming with tears.

They started their bikes and sped away as the first police vehicle appeared over the rise at the edge of the river.

 

Phil seemed to have collected himself as they entered their loft apartment. He pulled off his mask and unzipped his leather jacket, shrugging out of it and dropping it over the back of the sofa.

Dan followed Phil into the kitchen after hanging up their masks and jackets on the antique coat rack in the corner next to the door.

Phil grabbed a bottle of (slightly illegal) red wine from a hidden compartment under the sink. Dan handed him two glasses and watched as he poured a liberal amount of liquid into each.

“Phil,” Dan said hesitantly after a few sips of wine, “you know this wasn’t your fault, right? You know it’s on them, don’t you?”

Phil nodded, walking around the kitchen table to rest his head on Dan’s shoulder. Dan put his arm around Phil’s waist and squeezed lightly, mindful of the bruises that had most likely formed after the night’s exploits.

“You should do something about that cut,” Phil murmured, his voice muffled by Dan’s shirt. Dan raised his hand to the gash above his eye. It was still bleeding.

“I think I might need stitches,” Dan said.

Phil nodded, raising his head. “Come on then, you’re useless with a needle.” He pulled Dan after him toward the bathroom.

“Hey,” Dan protested, “I stitched up that cut on your back! It didn’t even scar.”

Phil smiled as he pushed Dan down on the edge of the bathtub. He opened the first-aid kit and pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a packet of needles and nylon suture thread. Dan gritted his teeth, keeping his eyes locked on Phil’s face as the older man neatly stitched up the cut. Phil dabbed some antibiotic ointment on the cut.

“All done. Any other wounds?”

Dan shook his head. “You?”

“Some bruises,” Phil said, his tone light, but Dan could hear the underlying sadness that always took hold of Phil when they failed to save someone. There was nothing Dan could do or say except let Phil sleep in his bed, slowly soaking his pillow with tears before falling asleep with one hand clasping Dan’s tightly.

Long ago, Dan used to have a similar reaction to losing people, but a difficult few years and too many empty eyes had hardened his heart. The only person who could still make him feel was Phil. Good, kind, adorable Phil, who carried the weight of the world on his trembling shoulders.

 

The next day, right after clocking in at the London City Radio Station where they worked, one of the DJs received a report that made Dan’s heart skip a beat.

_The body of Sasha Bayne, Daughter of Reginald Bayne, patriarch of the Bayne crime-family, was found on the shores of the Thames at 05:00 this morning. It is suspected that the vigilantes known as Stryker and SableSpectr were responsible for her death._

Dan and Phil shared an uncomfortable glance.

“Did you know she was a Bayne?” Phil asked in an aside to Dan, who shook his head.

“No,” Dan murmured, pretending to show Phil something on his phone. “She was neck deep in Arsen territory. No Bayne ever sets foot there.”

The rest of the day passed with both of them keeping a listening ear out for any more news, but none was forthcoming.

That evening, as they dressed to go out, Dan couldn’t help but wonder in how much danger they were.

Dan appraised their reflections as the stood side by side in front of the large mirror in their bathroom. Phil was dressed in dark blue leather, with small zigzags of green on his sleeves and boots. His face was almost entirely covered by a midnight blue enamelled mask, bearing the likeness of a lion.

Dan’s own outfit was solid black, right down to the featureless black kabuki mask. The only colour was the number 1610 in red on his left sleeve. They strapped their guns to their hips, Dan securing his baton to his belt, while Phil slid his into a holster on his back.

 

The night was quiet, unusually so, as they set off on their bikes. They were halfway to the Arsen’s neighbourhood when they realized they were being followed. Two white cars, bearing the Bayne family insignia were tailing them at what the drivers obviously believed to be a safe distance.

Dan motioned for Phil to turn into a side alley that was just barely wide enough for their bikes. The rear tire of Phil’s bike had just cleared the corner when two large, armoured figures dropped from the fire escape at the side of the alley, landing right in front of them. One of the white cars stopped across the mouth of the alley, blocking them in.

As if in slow motion, Phil saw one of the armoured men lift his arm, hurling something at Dan. A knife. Phil could see the blade flash as it turned over in mid-air before embedding itself in Dan’s shoulder. The armoured men clambered back up the fire escape, jumping over Phil’s head and scrambling into the car, which swiftly pulled away. Phil rushed to Dan, who had fallen off his bike. He was groaning, clutching at his shoulder. Phil grabbed his hand before he could pull out the knife.

“Dan, hold still,” Phil murmured, inspecting the wound, It was deep, but the blade had passed through the flesh between Dan’s shoulder joint and collarbone, missing anything vital. Phil tore off a large section from the bottom of his t-shirt, wrapping it tightly around the knife, preventing it from moving or pulling out and causing excessive bleeding. As he tied a knot in the fabric, Phil noticed something wrapped around the knife handle. A piece of paper, that Phil quickly unrolled.

 

**_Stryker,_ **

**_Turn yourself in for Judgement._ **

**_You have 48 hours._ **

**_If you do not comply, we will kill you both._ **

**_Signed_ **

**_Reginald Bayne._ **

****

Phil stuffed the note into his pocket. He couldn’t think about it now, he had to get Dan to a clinic.

 

 _Right now,_  
_I hope you're ready for a firefight_  
_'Cause the devil's got your number tonight_  
_They say!_  
_"We're never leaving this place alive"_  
_But if you sing these words, we'll never die_

 

Three hours later, Phil pushed open the front door of their apartment, half-supporting Dan, who was pale and maybe a little too relaxed due to painkillers.

“Phil,” Dan asked, his voice slurring a little, but his eyes focused and serious, “what did the note say?”

Phil helped Dan into a reclining position on the sofa. “You saw it?”

Dan nodded, waiting for an answer. Phil sat next to him, pulling the piece of paper out of his pocket and handing it to Dan.

“That’s less than ideal,” Dan said, looking at Phil. “Don’t worry, Phil, we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Phil nodded, closing his eyes and letting his head drop back onto the sofa.

It had always been true, that no matter how bad things got, he and Dan had found a way to come out on top. But this time, they were in an entirely unique situation. Phil had not known that Sasha was Reg Bayne’s daughter. They had found her in Arsen territory, running from two of Artemis Arsen’s cousins. She had begged them to take her ‘home’, across the bridge, but as soon as they were halfway across, she had jumped off Phil’s bike, running toward the guardrail. Phil had tried to grab her, to stop her from jumping, but she was too fast.

Phil opened his eyes, he couldn’t stand to think about it any longer. He looked over at Dan, who was snoring softly, his lips parted slightly.

“Dan,” Phil murmured, gently shaking his friend’s uninjured shoulder, “Dan, let’s get you to bed.”

Dan nodded, half opening his eyes and allowing Phil to support him down the hall to his bedroom.

“Stay tonight?” Dan mumbled as Phil lowered him onto the mattress.

“Sure,” Phil replied, tugging off Dan’s boots.

As soon as he was sure Dan was asleep, Phil got up. He made his way to the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of soda. He sat on one of the breakfast bar stools and pulled the note from his pocket.

He knew what he had to do, to keep Dan safe. If he turned himself in to the Baynes, they would come after Dan as soon as he was dead. But if he died before then, Dan would be absolved. At least, that was the best chance of Dan living to his next birthday. After finishing the soda, Phil went to the lounge, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen. He pondered what to write for a moment. Then he put pen to paper.

With the note finished, he went back to Dan’s room. He pressed his lips lightly to Dan’s temple, then put the note on his bedside table.

On his way out the front door, he stopped and fished the knife they’d pulled from Dan’s shoulder from his backpack. Gripping it tightly, Phil counted his steps up to the roof. It was a lovely night, with the stars swirling nebulously across the inky sky. Phil took a deep breath. This was not ideal, but he could see no other choice. Showing up during gang wars, saving those who might become collateral damage, that was easy. It was what he and Dan did. But the cardinal rule was simple: do not interfere with the Families. Five crime families ruled London, and getting on their bad side was a signed death warrant. They didn’t care about regular citizens, except when they needed recruits or hostages. The family-members, on the other hand, were untouchable.

 

Phil slowly stepped up on the ledge. He forced himself not to look down.

Instead he looked up at the sky. Maybe the fairytales his mum had told him were true, maybe his soul would turn to stardust, floating up through the toxic atmosphere to form a new star. That wouldn’t be so bad, Phil thought.

He lifted his foot...

 

~

 

“Phil!” Dan’s scream cut through the night, drowning out the sound of his footfalls as he ran across the roof, toward the ledge.

He reached out, grabbing Phil’s hand and yanking him back. Phil stumbled off the ledge, grabbing onto Dan’s lapel to stay upright.

“What the fuck is this?” Dan was screaming, his face inches from Phil’s, “Are you out of your goddamn mind? Jesus Christ, Phil! You are a fucking idiot!” Dan’s eyes were suspiciously shiny. As he screamed at Phil, he pulled him towards the staircase to enter the building again, but Phil was fighting back, trying to pull out of his grip, his protests overpowered by Dan’s tirade.

“How the hell could you even consider that,” Dan’s voice was losing volume as he struggled with Phil, his mouth pulled into a grimace as he felt the stitches in his shoulder tear. He tore the Baynes’ knife out of Phil’s grip and threw it with all his might. It disappeared over the edge of the roof. Phil stopped struggling and Dan gripped his shoulders, shaking him a little.

“Do you have any idea...? Can you imagine how I...? God, Phil, I can’t even...” Dan’s voice faded away.

“I’m sorry,” Phil whispered. He was looking toward the ledge, his eyes misty. “It just seemed like the only way to keep you from dying for my mistake.”

“No one’s dying. We won’t be more victims of Sasha Bayne’s suicide, okay? We can get through this, we always do.”

“I can’t believe that, Dan.” Phil was still looking away.

“I do. And if you believe in nothing else, believe in me.”

 

 _Get off the ledge and drop the knife_  
_Not a victim of a victim's life_  
_Because this ain't a room full of suicides_  
_We're believers, I believe tonight_

 

~

 

After work the next day, they spent three hours preparing and planning the most precarious operation they’ve ever undertaken. Finally, around 10pm, they suited up.

The plan was simple: lure as many Baynes as possible to the South Bridge, then blow it up.

 

 _I'll tell you all how the story ends_  
_Where the good guys die and the bad guys win_  
_Who cares?_  
_This ain't about all the friends you made_  
_But the graffiti they write on your grave_

 

Dan took a deep breath as he climbed onto his motorcycle. He glanced at Phil, hoping to convey a we-can-do-this message with the look.

As soon as they pulled up on the bank of the Thames nearest the South Bridge, Dan pressed a button on the tiny black remote in his hand, sending a signal to all the Family receivers. It broadcast a message for Reg Bayne, daring him to face Stryker with his accusations.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Phil asked.

“I doubt Reg will show up in person, but he might send a couple of his sons,” Dan replied, his eyes scanning the city-scape. Sooner than expected, three white cars appeared on the freeway heading to the bridge.

Dan pulled out his gun. This was it. They would make their stand on the bridge, empty at this time of the night. In sync, Dan and Phil moved their bikes, placing them directly in front of the Bayne fleet.

The cars stopped, a quarter of the way across the bridge, and a dozen men got out, all armed.

Dan recognized Reg’s youngest son, Graham, holding a rather impressive semi-automatic gun. The Baynes weren’t advancing yet, waiting for Dan and Phil to make the first move.

“Good evening,” Dan said, breaking the tense silence.

“SableSpectr,” Graham inclined his head, “Stryker.”

“So, word on the wire is that you think Stryker had something to do with your sister’s death.” Dan’s grip on his gun tightened as he spoke.

“That’s what the evidence of our eyes suggests,” Graham said.

“It’s not true,” Dan said. “The Arsen boys got to her first. We pulled her out of their domain.”

“Not likely.” Graham took a step forward. “No Bayne ventures into Arsen territory. Ever.”

“I’m not lying.” Dan resisted the urge to retreat as the Baynes advanced steadily. “Get ready,” he muttered in an aside to Phil, whose gloved hands tightened on the handle bars of his bike.

 

 _For all of us who've seen the light_  
_Salute the dead and lead the fight_  
_Hail, hail!_  
_Who gives a damn if we lose the war?_  
_Let the walls come down, let the engines roar_

 

“My father has requested that we take you into custody,” Graham was saying, now less than fifteen metres from the middle of the bridge, flanked by eight of the other men, while three remained with the cars.

“Now?” Phil asked.

“Now.” Dan answered. They kicked their biked into motion, turning away from the Baynes. Dan pressed another button on the remote he’d used earlier, but nothing happened.

“What’s wrong?” Phil asked.

“Go!” Dan yelled at him. “I’ll have to do it manually.”

When Phil still hesitated, with the Baynes all levelling their weapons, Dan screamed at him again.

“Go, Phil! NOW!”

 

 _I'm the only friend that makes you cry_  
_You're a heart attack in black hair dye_  
_So just save yourself and I'll hold them back tonight_

 

Phil nodded, the tires of his bike screeching as he pulled away.

Dan jumped off his own bike, running to the supports where they had placed the explosives, aiming wildly at the Baynes now firing at him. In his peripheral vision he saw two of them collapsed as his bullets found their marks. He slid to the ground next to the bomb and immediately realised why it hadn’t detonated: one of the wires had come loose. He pressed it into the slot with one hand, firing off a few more shots with the other. The red light blinked on.

“Thank god,” Dan murmured, surging to his feet, but the men had closed in around him, heedless of any dangers on this side of the bridge. In a last desperate bid, Dan rushed straight toward them, using their confusion to break through and started running as fast as he could. More shots were fired. Pain suddenly blossomed across his arm as a bullet grazed across his flesh. He looked back to see them running after him. He was out of time. Once more, he pressed the button and this time it worked.

 

~

 

 _We can leave this world, leave it all behind_  
_We can steal this car if your folks don't mind_  
_We can live forever if you've got the time_

 

Phil looked over his shoulder when he heard the explosion, saw the glow of fire illuminating the night, before being swallowed by the darkness. He and Dan had agreed to meet outside the city limits, past the BNC farms. As he neared the edge of the city, he pulled the mask off his face, throwing in carelessly to the side of the road. Up ahead, he could see the low shape of one of the checkpoints that stretched across all the roads in and out of the city. Since trespassing on the BNC farms was punishable by death, only very reckless or very stupid people didn’t use the roads. Phil turned into one of the lanes and passed through the checkpoint with the minimum of fuss. Once out of the city, Phil sped up, leaning low over the handlebars of his bike. It was almost dawn when he reached his destination – a small hotel, dirty and unwelcoming, but as safe as any place could be out here, where BNC operatives patrolled the roads.

He booked a room and settled down on the lumpy couch to wait for Dan.

 

~

 

 _You're the broken glass in the morning light_  
_Be a burning star if it takes all night_  
_So just save yourself and I'll hold them back tonight_

 

Dan felt the explosion rock the ground beneath his feet. A split second later an unimaginable level of pain enveloped him. He barely felt himself being thrown through the air like a ragdoll and only vaguely registered hitting the ground. Every sense, every nerve was focused solely the pain. It was excruciating. Dan couldn’t move, didn’t know if he was still breathing. Finally, after an eternity, darkness claimed him and the pain stopped.

 

 _Are y'all ready where you are at?_  
_If you save yourself tonight_  
_'Cause we're coming for you_  
_Can you save yourself tonight?_  
_Right now!_  
_'Cause I'll hold them back!_  
  
_We can leave this world, leave it all behind_  
_We can steal this car if your folks don't mind_  
_We can live forever if you've got the time_  
  
_Na na na na na, na na na na na_  
_Can you save yourself tonight?_

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't kill me for the cheesiest names in superhero/vigilante history. My dystopia never had DC and Marvel.
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> Feedback is always greatly appreciated!


End file.
